Here's a drabble, there's a drabble
by ahming
Summary: And another little drabble. Okay so I'm cleaning out my documents and couldn't stand to trash this stuff. Most of it's unfinished and stuff, but eh maybe someone'll like it.
1. Casey gets a job

_Okay so this is written right after the FIRST 1990's TMNT movie. I've never written off of the live action movie, and one day I got bored and got to thinking of how different movie April and Casey really were. And this kinda... was born. I don't really think it's finished, I dunno, the ending seems weird, but know what? I found it in my documents, and don't even remember writing it, so I was like, whatever, I'll just post it. _

* * *

Ten minutes before he had been called into her office— if you could call it an office, he had desperately attempted to pull his hair back into a suave, businessey-looking ponytail. Having seen a number of classy, swishy kinda guys with the same length hair as him pull it off, he hoped it would look just as posh on him. Unfortunately, it did not.

You might be asking yourself exactly why Arnold Casey Jones, loafer extraordinaire was seeking employment in a D class joint such as this, looking ever so spiffy in a tie and suit. Truth be told, it was all because of April O'Neil. April sure was something else. She was the kindest, sweetest, most stunning fire-breathing woman he'd ever laid eyes on. She was quick and always had witty quips up her sleeve when he started talking jive. He could tell a part of her liked him, but April was a real lady, not some unrestrained floozy. She was independent and brash with a silver tongue. He had to face the facts— what would a dame like her ever see in a mutt like him?

Okay, so they flirted around the clock and had actually kissed once. But it was all just a game, at the end of the night they both knew that if Casey didn't get his act together they had no chance. And what scared him the most was he had never felt this way about a girl before. To him women were a form of merriment, he enjoyed acting obnoxiously immaturely just to see their reaction. It made him feel young again. It was fun to coo at them and make cat calls, and it was nice getting booty once in a while, but he couldn't actually see himself with any of those broads.

April had told him more than once he needed to grow up and get with the program. Before he had waved her off in disregard to go tinker on some type of mechanics with Donnie or drop in on Raph only to point and scream at a television screen that didn't do exactly what they would have liked, bag upon bag of chips scattering the floor. It was true what April had said, though. He was nearing 30 and still gallivanting around the city like some sort of freelance sway, pulverizing street scum and your garden variety purse snatching JV lowlifes. It got even better after he had met the turtles and formed a no-policy friendship with Raphael, who also shared his dog eat dog view on life. He couldn't sit back and deny that it wasn't the good life, but he had no future, no real career, and it didn't really bother him until he met April.

So Casey could say he was doing this for April, but even he knew that he wasn't doing it _just_ for her, he was doing it for himself.

The bulky dude behind the counter gave him an offhand glance and as he sauntered over towards the wooden bench outside the fuzzy glass door he could not see through, it struck him that he might possibly be overdressed. Buffalo Bill over there made him doubt himself, but he always heard April saying if he didn't dress smart, no one would take him seriously.

_'Talk smart, look sharp.' _she had told him._  
_

Then again, _Donnie_ had told him if he didn't dress for the job, he probably wouldn't get it.

So far April's doctrine had managed to get him roughly about four doors slammed in his face and a possible restraining order.

It weirded him out that a talking turtle who had never had a real job or even an interview before might actually know more than an ex-TV news reporter, but he guessed April was used to the big time, and maybe this was how they looked and acted in the big time. Maybe you just spewed enough bullshit to eachother until you came to a subconscious agreement to kind of coexist together.

April managed to get a job as a journalist shortly after coming back to the city. It wasn't as hard as she had thought, and since her face was quite recognizable and very estimable, she was offered a job on the spot. Casey on the other hand managed to shack up in his usual hideout, pulling up some floor to sleep on with the guys when things got out of hand at 'home'.

Maybe an oil stained jump suit would have been more appropriate, he thought to himself. Without even a second to duck out the door and contemplate a wardrobe change, he heard the office door open, causing his stomach to sink.

_Well, here goes nothin'_ he thought to himself as he walked through the door.

This had to have been the most awkward interview he'd been to so far. So freakishly quiet.

Casey fidgeted in his seat. The chair had a supportive back, but there was an entire circle cut out near the tail bone that, as unceremonious as it sounded, basically let his ass hang out. It made him feel oddly violated as well as humiliated sitting there, not knowing if business men did the whole one leg other the other like women did, or if they crossed their hands or what. As if he didn't feel weird enough in a fancy-schmancy suit, being subjected to 20 questions wasn't making him feel any more at ease. The tiny office was stuffy, and he couldn't tell if it was really just hot or if his tie was cutting off the circulation to, well, everything.

The walls were a yellowed crème color and dully dotted with fake wood frames, sporting yellow and white slips of paper with frilly cursive writing. He wondered if they were all degrees, or if she just put them up to seem horrifyingly intimidating. Whatever her angle was, it was working.

A set of piercing blue eyes scanned a sheet of crumpled paper in her hand. Her obvious distaste for him had been evident the very moment he walked through that door, to stand there awkwardly until invited to sit. She had, however, retained a bit of composure and although she seemed rather standoffish, she also seemed very worldly in a strange way.

The paper wouldn't have been crumpled if he had owned a briefcase.

_Note to self: get briefcase._

His mind retaliated with wit he hadn't thought possible under such stress, saying: _You need a job in order to get a briefcase, numb nuts._

In all the other interviews he had engaged in mindless conversation, sharing an occasional light chuckle and a handshake. But this was a whole other experience completely. He had never in his life felt so on display before, so abased. Every move he made seemed to be amplified twenty times louder than he had intended and it amazed him how discomfortingly loud clothing could stretch, the stitches making an unmistakable squeak. Even his breathing seemed inordinately loud.  
He kept his cool, however, and sat there as poised and contained as he possibly could, the entire time his mind screaming: _'say something, you creepy, creepy lady! Say something! AH, I can't stand it anymore! It's so quiet! I got gas! The boys gotta be adjusted! COME ON SAY SOMETHING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SAY SOMETH—"_

"Very interesting resume, Mr. …" a calculated pause. "Jones. And why exactly do you feel your assets would be beneficial to this company?"

He sucked in a gulp full of air and then heavily sighed, his silent prayers being answered. In truth, even though it was foolish, he was actually a little afraid to think anything inappropriate around her, like the fact that she had a _really_ nice rack. It made him feel like a four year old to be in fear of someone being able to read his mind, but stranger things had happened, right? He had four mutated turtles and a mutated rat that basically counted as family. So mind reading was completely comprehensible, he reassured himself.

A homely little plaque was stationed at the tip of the desk, reading 'Gail N' in long, dull letters. The desk itself was painfully spic and span, completely lacking in personality. He found himself gawking at the giant planner/calendar on her desk. Aside from a calculator in the right hand corner and lamp that looked like it had been snagged from the 60's, there was nothing. Not even a computer.

His own eyes left the ceiling and found hers, widening a bit, noticing the expression on her face. He couldn't tell if she was irritated or constipated. With a shrug —not his first mistake— he let his eyes wander to the side while his hand gestured expressively. "Well," he started, plainly saying, "You guys said y'needed a mechanic on that sign out here." His thumb stabbed at the space of air behind him, indicating the front of the building. "And I ain't like, a professional or anything but I know my way around an engine."

"Are you telling me you aren't a licensed mechanic, Mr. Jones?" Broadzilla asked in a biting voice. She was a fair skinned woman with pale blonde hair pulled up off her face in a clean bun. He wondered if her icy blue eyes ever sparkled when she laughed. Judging by the defined outline of her jaw and her high cheek bones, as well as the fact that her eyebrows always seemed to be in a state of false surprise, he found himself in doubt.

Looping his index finger around his tie he began fussing with it some. Maybe this shoddy office was what made her so bitter. "Well, no, I don't got a degree or anything—"

The pen she had been tapping on her desk came to a stop, hovering in mid air as he eyes scanned him curiously. The chair offered a weak squeal as Gail slowly leaned forward, her voice harboring a bit of amusement, as if she were enjoying watching him squirm. "You _do_ know it is a Federal offense to lie on a resume, Mr. Jones, ... don't you?" She barked, her voice alarmingly robust, not holding even a hint of amiable friendliness.

"Oh, well yeah, but I didn't exactly lie I just… stretched the truth a l'il s'all. Believe you me I know my way around an engine no problem." Coming to the striking conclusion that his charm and wit wasn't going to help him one bit here, he took a dive. "Look, Lady, I'll level with ya." Leaning into the desk he placed both hands on the edges. The woman cocked her head back, seemingly appalled. "I _really_ need this job."

There was a moment of chilling silence. Gail suddenly took on a much more inviting demeanor and rocked back into her chair, the pleather making a soft squeak. As she pyramided her hands in her lap a dotty grin formed in the corner of her mouth. "Mr. Jones, I'm feeling unnaturally generous today, so I'll cut you a deal."

His face broke out into an uncertain smile watching Gail do a complete 360.

"Yeah? Ah that'd be great!" He said expectantly.

"Yeah," her nose wrinkled up and her eyes squinted, like maybe she thought she was talking to an infant. In an instant her index finger was pointing towards him playfully, wagging. "Tell you what," The mocked kindness in her voice was quickly abandoned, her brows drawing down harshly and her jaw squaring. "How about you high-tail it out of here in the next ten seconds or I call the police and have you incarcerated!" She spat.

His mouth worked. One brow went up, then down, and the other did the same. His lips formed an 'O' shape, and he stuttered. "I...uh, w..." was about all he could get out.

Gail appeared to be unmoved.

"Yer serious?" He rocked back, blinking really fast.

The way she pulled her brows down was kind of frightening, especially considering how tight her hair was pulled back. She instantly looked 10 years older. "Dead serious. Beat it!"

About an hour later Casey Jones found himself wandering around the sidewalks in a blind stupor. It wasn't that he really expected to get the job; he just didn't expect her to threaten to call the cops on him. What was the big deal, anyway? It wasn't some hoity toity reputable business, and half the workers were probably crack head teenagers who probably thought a BUICK was a Big Ugly Indestructible Car Killer. That last part forced him to chuckle, despite how miserable he was feeling.

This time of day the city was booming with shopaholics, alcoholics, squads of mutinous youths slinking by, their daily activities somewhat questionable. Soon swarms of taxis would be lining the street to escort snot-nosed kids home to a house where a parent probably wouldn't even be.

For the moment however the streets seemed strangely calm. He could make out a low murmur of voices from almost every direction, and the occasional siren blasting off in the distance, the sound of street side vendors advertising their goods, and the never-ending click of heels against cement. Growing up in the city your entire life you gradually learned to interpret these sounds as a type of music, and on extremely boring childhood days it was almost enough to drive you to the point of slapping Popsicle sticks on any metallic surface, and try to play along.

"_Owh_, I can't believe it! Whatsa matter with me? Am I just like unhireable 'er somethin'?!" He groaned as he kicked at a balled up newspaper trying to play keep away from a trash picker who proceeded to rush right into his knees. "Yo man, watch where your goin!" His expression softened when the man looked right up into his eyes. The skull bashing vigilante in him wanted to shake his head and stock away, but the regular, everyday Casey-No-Job-Jones could only scowl.

And then came the inevitable, "You got any spare change?"

It hit him like a bullet directly between the eyes. Damnit. He instinctively patted his shoulders and shrugged. In truth, he didn't. He used his last five bucks on breakfast, which consisted of French fries and the greasiest hot dog this side of Manhattan.

The grimy man shot him a cold eye. He tilted his hat up and then brought it down over the brim of his eyebrows. "You sure? I'd take a dollar or two, ya know. With that classy suit'a yours ya'd kinda think maybe you could spare some change."

Even as he talked to Casey the beggar's attention seemed divided, scouting the sidewalk across the street. There were generally two types of beggars in New York. The genuine poverty-stricken homeless that curled up on stoops in the middle of the night and used newspaper for bedding, and the 'gypsy' people. The fakers. These people typically made bundles of cash, stocking the streets with outstretched hands, the trademark crying child balanced on her arthritic hip. These types of people generally inhabited the subways where the business people were almost always forced to commute since the streets were a never-ending farrago of neon yellow cabbies, sigar smoke, and throngs of people meandering around, trying their hardest to look like they had somewhere important to go. He could feel something for this vagrant before him, not knowing if he had always been a street urchin, if he had possibly lost everything in a business transaction gone horribly wrong, maybe his wife had left him and taken their children, maybe he had turned to the bottle for some type of solice. Maybe he was just another unlucky run of the mill Joe Schmoe that life had fucked over.

"What? Oh, nah." Casey attempted to briefly explained it was a second hand store suit he had purchased for a job interview.

The more he studied the man he realized he'd seen him before. He went by Dubs, and he his turf mainly consisted of this street and the one over. He would generally make change-and-food rounds every couple of hours. Not everyone in the Big Apple looked the other way, though, and it was a common occurrence to find half eaten bags of food left on top of doorsteps or trash cans that had tops, carefully wrapped and waiting to be eaten. Casey didn't find the idea of eating someone's leftovers particularly appealing, but it wasn't like the guy didn't have any options. He basically had an entire smorgasbord, courtesy of a select few New Yorkers.

A crowd of white-collar yahoo's randomly shambled by, briefcases in hands, cell phones surgically attached to their ears. Just then one of the men seemingly suffered a very severe case of Beepilepsy that took the bum Casey had been talking to by complete surprise. It wasn't really fear in his eyes he saw, or anger. There was something behind those frenzied eyes that wasn't exactly normal, and witnessing the bum appeared to become deranged and dart off down the street, loudly mumbling something to himself, Casey blinked.

The jacketed man squeezed the phone to his ear with his shoulder and danced around, his hand expertly peeling his jacket back and glaring unmercifully down at his pager. He didn't pay any mind to the vagrant he had totally terrified, nor to anyone else around him. He dismissed the pager and began walking again even before looking up, shouldering directly into Casey who reeled his arms back in surprise. Casey could make out dark brown eyes open wide in surprise behind bold frames, and watched an arm shoot out, grab him by the shoulder firmly, then cup the phone that was still hovering by his ear. _'Sorry'_, he mouthed, and then rushed off to rejoin his associates.

Out of the corner of his eye Casey caught sight of an immense sign with animated letters boldly spelling out 'BANNING'S SPORTING APPAREL' nestled in-between a radio repair shop and what looked like a deli of some sort.

"Why not?" He said aloud as he yanked the rubber band out of his hair letting land in whatever wild position it wanted, and then crossed the street.

The establishment was pretty well lit; from where he was standing on the sidewalk he could make out a myriad of head's popping up here and there behind rows and rows of shelves carrying all kinds of sports apparel. He saw a display of baseball mitts, a few golf clubs behind a gaudy painting of a golf Corse, and some hockey sticks. He even spotted a cardboard cut out of some celebrity star football player, undoubtedly trying to draw attention to an intricately stacked exhibit of footballs.

Casey swallowed hard, giving rationality one last chance to shake him from this nightmare. He looked up at the sign that read 'BANNING'S SPORTING APPAREL ', and waited for something he could not identify. A metaphorical sign, possibly, one that said _'Good idea, Casey'_, or,_ 'April will be proud'_, —hell, even _'walk away, bonehead'_ would have been appreciated at this point.

Realizing he was not going to get any type of divine intervention, he sighed, and walked through the doors.

The jingly bell on the door alerted everyone to his presence, and when about six people looked over in his general direction he cocked a brow and offered a polite simper.

When he first stepped in his brow furrowed and he smacked at his ear lightly. Coming to the conclusion that his hearing wasn't acting up and it really was quieter than a frickin' boneyard, he blanched. What was it with these creepy, unnaturally quiet businesses lately? There was no obnoxious stentorian radio blasting in the back anywhere, there were no TV's lining the walls like in other shops he'd seen with flashy advertisements. It was so quiet he could actually hear the soles of his shoes squeak when he shifted his weight.

He located a lanky man whose entire face was practically smothered in freckles. The man raised a friendly hand in acknowledgement and waved Casey over. When he made it to the desk they shook hands and exchanged names, making brief small talk.

"So hey, listen," Casey said, rubbing the counter top after a bit of mindless chatter. "You guys ah," he glanced around uneasily, still a little creeped out that this place had such bad publicity. Maybe it was just a slow day. "Got any openings?"

"We might. You know your way around a sports shop?" The man who had identified himself as Michael Banning asked, suddenly sounding very testy. The way he turned his nose up made him seem very condescending and assholeish. It put Casey off, but he kept as polite a smile as he could manage.

It was when Casey remembered he was still a walking talking suit that he suddenly felt way out of his comfort zone. His tie felt far too tight again.

He coughed.

"You bet I do. I used to play." He replied, hoping mentioning that would sweeten the deal. Squeezing his eyes shut he silently cursed himself. If he would have known he actually stood a chance here he might have changed into something more appropriate.

Michael Banning questioned what he had played and when, and why exactly he had stopped, and when he seemed to be satisfied with Casey's answers he slapped his hand down on the counter and said, "Oh, well in that case! Welcome aboard!"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Jus like that?"

"Just like that."

The last few places he had applied at— actually _applied _at, with an application and an interview, the whole works, he was told he'd be called if anything opened up, and in one instance even been threatened to have the police called on him. He wasn't a dope, he knew that_ 'we'll call you'_ was the polite, orderly way of saying _'you ain't gettin' the job, bozo'._ It almost made him laugh that he had practically been handed a job within ten minutes, but who was he to complain?

"Awesome, you won't be sorry, Mista Bannin'," He cried merrily as he ducked out of the shop, letting the door swing shut. "I promise ya won't!"

This was _perfect! Maybe April will like me more now_, he thought to himself, busting out in a horribly embarrassing little jig before hopping off the curb, just barely missing an irate taxi driver who honked his disapproval at his absentmindedness.

"Yo, guess what! I got a job!" He shouted at the taxi driver who displayed his enthusiasm by flipping the bird and honking again. "Wait'll I tell April!"

"AY! Wiseguy! Get outta the fuckin' street will ya?!" An extremely hairy arm exited the open window, sigar in hand. Two men in the back of the taxi glanced at each other uncertainly. They were obviously fresh meat on the NY cutting board, judging by the way they slunk down into their seats a bit, as if they were embarrassed. Casey even saw the blonde man's hand slowly slither up and hit the lock on the door. What did he care? He had a job!

The man tipped his cap and shook his head, his hand returning to the steering wheel. "Sheesh, fuckin' lunatics. I'm movin', I'm movin', god _damn_ it!" Grunting and tapping the gas pedal the car lunged forward, finally getting the line of vehicles behind him moving again.

People honked their disaproval at Casey as he merrily skipped down the street, but he didn't care.

Why should he? He had a job. And a chance with April. What more could he ask for?


	2. April & Chief Sterns

_Kay, so, like I said I'm cleaning out my documents. This was a little piece from a fic I was going to do, but never got around to. Still from the 90s live action. *Shrugs* I couldn't throw this stuff out cause I'm a packrat, so let's call it a drabble and move on with life?_

* * *

There were only two people on the entire planet that had the ability to make him want to jump from a four story building. One of them was his mother in law. The other …

As he shielded his eyes and glared helplessly into his mug of coffee he could only dream of the bottle of Scotch on the kitchen counter at his house. He symbolically raised his eyes to the heavens as if searching for an answer, his hands rested out in front of himself pleadingly. "_You_ again? Didn't you get fired?"

April O'Neil cocked her head to the side, her brows rising to confirm that she had indeed been let go by Charles some months ago. She wondered if he had pieced that together all by himself or if her sudden absence as his constant adversary had tipped him off. If he had the common sense to flick through the channels he might have noticed she had been replaced. She felt an odd sense of pride in herself when she realized that she probably irritated him so much that he probably didn't even watch that channel anymore.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He mordantly inquired.

The accomplished smile that radiated from her was enough to bring on a 42-car-pile-up of a headache. His antagonist rocked back on her heels, enjoying every second of anguish she caused him.

"Well," she started in a taunting voice, trialing her finger absently on his desk as she walked around it. "I'm a journalist now and I'm doing some digging on a story."

His reply was anything but well-intended. "You don't say."

A slow nod followed by the clicking of her heels again. It wasn't her silence that coaxed the next question out of him; he just wanted her gone as quickly as possible and knew this was the only way.

"And what story might that be?"

"The Lydia Chung case."

"Jesus!" He said. "What is it with you and busting my chops all the time?"

"I'm doing my job, Chief Sterns." The way she said this caused his eyes to pop open. A vein began forming over his left eyebrow. He was probably grinding his teeth by this point. It wasn't her fault it was this easy to get under his skin.

"You tellin' me I don't know how to do my job? Look here." With that he pushed away from his desk and lifted his massive weight out of his swivel chair. He hiked up his belt a bit. "I could have you thrown out of here for harassment, so I suggest you ask what you want to know and then kindly GET THE HELL OUT."

She appeared unmoved. For the longest of moments she stared him straight in the face, studying his rosy cheeks and wild eyes. The vein hadn't gone down yet. When she was absolutely sure he was two seconds from throwing his chair out the window, her jaw pulled down and her lower lip jutted out, her brows arching up in a facial feature suggesting agreement. "Fair enough. Tell me everything."


	3. Leo and Raph are missing Mike dances:

_Okay, so this is still live action 1990. You know, I wanted to a live-action story, I bet thats where all these clips are coming from haha. Oh well. Yeah, lot of 90's references in here.  
_

* * *

With a tiny sigh Donatello cast his gaze upon the kitchen tabletop, littered with an incalculable pile of complete junk. A battlefield of crumpled paper, a half eaten bag of Crispyfries, a seemingly endless supply of chewed-up pencils and half-empty cups of cold coffee that had started to skin over from being ignored for so long. It irked him to no end, realizing his workspace had been reduced to a rickety kitchen table, his usually organized chaos totally unsystematic in every way possible. It ate away at him, but no matter what he did, no matter where he went, the problem would not not vanish. It could not be remedied. There simply was not enough room in this tiny apartment to adhere with his needs and wants, and sooner or later he was going to have to accept it.

With Leo scouting the roof tops during the evening and Raphael running off with Casey to salvage lorn parts for whatever it was Don was attempting to work on, that basically left Mike and him with a handful of downtime. He could stomach it for a while, looking over hand drawn blueprints and pretending to be indistinctly interested in the SWAT Kats, but as soon as Bevis and Butthead invaded the screen and he could literally _feel_ his brain beginning to liquefy and dribble down the side of his neck, he had to politely call it quits.

After all had been said and done Casey and April just kind of drifted together. They still faught like an old married couple, but it was funny. Casey was the yin to April's yang, he kept her on her toes, whether she was yelling or laughing.

As he toyed with the measuring tape draped across his neck he stared down at the lines and numbers of one particular sheet of paper. After bonding so well with Casey in the farmhouse and realizing his love for mechanics (he had always had a love for building, but having an actual motor vehicle to tinker with set a raging fire in his gut), he had recently begun giving some honest thought to possible security precautions for the new lair, when and if they found one. The idea seemed cohesive to him, and it excited him to think that he might be able to build something to better his family and to protect them, to give them an even greater edge in the real world. An alarm of some type would greatly increase their scatter time, too, in case anyone invaded the lair, by accident or force. In truth 'vanishing' was not one of their strong points, and wouldn't you know it, it was one of the most important points in Ninjitsu. He couldn't even begin to recall all the times Leo had given the signal to dispel or snuff out a light and one of them had gotten so close to being spotted. He didn't see why he couldn't just modify a car alarm, the idea seemed simple enough.

"What we need is an expansion module, I could combine that with wireless transmitter..." Lighting striking, Don grabbed for a pencil and began jotting details down on any slip of paper he could get his hands on, already debating on taking another fire alarm apart. April had been furious with him for doing that, even when he told her he could put it together with no problem (and he did, too).

Now that he had been living with April it had become increasingly easier to get his hands on a seemingly endless supply of information, be it through the television, books, or a more 'hands-on' approach. Realizing he had finally run out of paper, Don sighed lightly and leaned back in the chair, wincing when it squeaked.

He shot a curious glance over in the direction he had last seen his brother, wondering if he might have finally run out of steam. Don forced a smile. The limitation of space didn't seem to deter Michelangelo from being his usually energetic self at all. It was nice spending quality time with Mikey, and even though he could get a little out of hand sometimes, he liked hanging out with him. He loved his boisterous attitude, the fact that he always tried to see the good in everyone, even his quirky antics and his usually very lame jokes. One thing Donatello did not love, however, was the fact that this was his sixth time watching Michelangelo prance around, Walkman in hand, trying his best to verbally keep up with the musical stylings of Tag Team. He suspected that if he were forced to listen to 'Whoomp! (there it is)' even once more, he might seriously consider drinking bleach.

"Mikey, would you tone it down a bit? I can't hear myself think!"

As he suspected, his pleas fell on deaf ears. Don blinked and watched Mikey perform his improvised version of The Running Man, trying with all his might to stifle a hiccup of laughter.

_'Whoomp! Thaaay it it ayss! Shaka laka shaka laka shaka whoomp!'_

"Michelangelo!"

He'd been at it for about an hour now.

Living with April was a constant struggle now that she had lost her job. She took on enough odd jobs to rent a new apartment ―much smaller than her last― but without a sufficient flow of money to fund the necessary repairs, they had to get by with whatever questionable material Casey could come up with. They had considered staying up at April's farmhouse longer, but Casey had to get back to the city, to keep rent up on his own apartment. And besides, it was too much of a hassle to have to drive into town for supplies every other week, no one looked forward to chopping wood so they wouldn't freeze to death, and they all missed the city. Overnight April had gone from being single and on the market to a surrogate mother of four teenagers (five, if you counted Casey). Couple that with the fact that said teenagers also knew Ninjitsu, so of course, plates were always being flung around like Frisbees, and things were constantly being broken. When you added it up the equation basically hinted at a very stressed young woman.

But whether she was offering a kind ear or spitting daggers, April was simply amazing, none of them could deny that fact. Even after her apartment and her shop had gone up in flames, she offered them shelter and food while waiting for a brother to recuperate, even knowing that if she hadn't invited them in, if she hadn't of mentioned microwave pizzas, if she hadn't of answered the door that one night, she might be in her apartment right now chowing down on some Chinese food and watching a corny old movie. But no, that wasn't the type of girl April was. After she had found Raphael's forlorn sai and had been attacked a SECOND time by The Foot, she still stuck around, knowing full well that her life could be jeopardized at any given time.

_'can you dig it? we can dig it! Can yall dig it? We can dig it!'_

"Mike, seriously. I can't― _Mikey! _I can't―" He threw his hands up in a defeated style and scooted out from the kitchen table, fully intent on making his presence known to his brother, who still seemed oblivious. It was amazing he managed to dance around without knocking into any furniture, Don thought to himself as he briskly walked up to his brother. Still unaware of Don's existence, he reached out, grabbed each side of Mike's headphones and then let them snap back onto his head.

"OW! Hey!" Mikey whined, frowning as he pulled the headphones around his neck, letting them hang there. The sound was even more obnoxious now. Don sighed as Mike rubbed at the back of his head, turning down the volume. "What gives?"

Knowing it was dangerous, crossing Mike's path like this, he tried to explain. "I'm trying to work, and I can't concentrate with that..." at a loss of words he gestured desperately with his hands. "with that."

Before they had moved in they had plenty of room to roam around, plenty of room to ignore each other and pursue individual interests, and most important of all, plenty of room to actually train. Even in her old apartment there was at least room to do back flips (forced or willingly). Here, they were practically shell to shell every single moment of every day. This made sleeping arrangements rather complicated, Splinter taking the pull out couch, each brother getting a turn with him while the others slept on the floor. It wasn't THAT bad, but it definitely wasn't a six person living environment. With one bathroom, one bedroom, one tiny living room and a half kitchen half living room, Don almost missed the cluttered remnants of the home Raph so adoringly referred to as a 'crapshack', i.e their old lair.

He missed the stained, dowdy old couch, the stack of newspapers Leo refused to get rid of no matter what, the shoddy old TV set with the rabbit ears, the tv trays and even that lamp by the couch, the one that, no matter how many bulbs he put in still flickered due to faulty wiring.

Until Mike realized what that Don was referring to, his face remained blank. He suddenly blinked. "Oh. Gotcha. My bad, bro."

Did Mikey just listen to me, and actually say he was sorry? Don's eyes shifted to the left then the right. He half expected Rod Serling to appear in the corner and inform him he had entered The Twilight Zone. But when he turned his attention back to Mike, he was still there, still offering an apologetic smile.

"It's okay," he said with a nod. Smiling in an accomplished manner he turned on his heels and made his way back to the kitchen counter, more of a bounce in his step than before. It was nice to reach your younger brother on an intelligent, understanding level. He smirked, recalling how Raph insisted it was physically impossible. Shows how much they know, he thought to himself.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a Nerf ball came sailing towards him, colliding and ricocheting off the back of shell. He tensed, groaned, and bent down to pick up the Nerf ball, spinning around as quickly as possible, his arm already reeled back. That was when he noticed his father's whithered figure in the doorway. Judging by the way Donatello immediately dropped the the ball to the floor one might have guessed it burst into flames, but no, he knew what the score was. Mikey always managed to get out of trouble in instances just like this, just because he was theoretically the youngest. Splinter would walk in at the worst possible moment and catch his usually-most-mature son in an extremely callow position, making him look like some sort of brute.

Mike took note of Don's sudden guardedness and twisted around to see his father, as well. He smiled and waved him over. "Where'd you come from?"

If Splinter was displeased about his son's disteeming greeting, he certainly didn't show it. "I was meditating. Something I expect you to be doing later on this evening." Don almost scoffed at that. It amazed him how even during the most chaotic of times, his father held the astounding ability to detach himself from reality. He probably hadn't heard a word of the song, and Don found himself envious upon realizing this. "Have your brothers returned yet?"

Mikey shook his head, the headphones still dangling around his neck. "April's home, though." He replied with a devilish smile.

Don scoffed. "How could you possibly know―"

April suddenly barged in as if on cue, her arms overflowing with paper grocery bags packed to the brim, her purse slung over one shoulder, and a six pack of Tab grasped tightly by her pinky finger.

"Ninja Magic." Mike shrugged.

It was then that Don noticed exactly where Mike was standing, and where he had been looking. Cocking a brow he stepped over, now realizing you could April's car from this position.

"Some magic." He replied, instantly materializing by April's side. He began taking the bags from her, now regretting all the clutter on the table as he heaved the bags over to the kitchen counter. Mike came forward for a second bag, although it ended up splitting and spilling its entire contents onto the floor.

With a sigh and a tight smile April shrugged, tossing her car keys from one hand to the other. She then peeled her jacket off and began hanging it up while Mikey picked through the mound of snacks on the floor, occasionally 'oohing' and 'aahing'.

"Busy day?" Don asked with a shy smile.

"Ugh, you wouldn't believe it even if I told you." She replied, reaching into one of the bags. It was then that she stopped, realizing she had just told a mutated turtle he 'wouldn't understand'. The two burst out in a frenzy of laughter, April shaking her head while she began to recount the horrors that had faced her this particular day. "I don't know what his problem is but he's always been unwilling to give me any information on any story I'm working on."

"What are you working on this time?"

Splinter had offered to assist them but was told twice now by April and Donatello that his assistance wasn't required and that he should just sit down and rest. And so he took a seat next on the couch, cautiously eyeing whatever it was Michelangelo had playing on the television. It seemed wasteful to him to have music playing and a television on at the same time, but he said nothing, only his smile would reveal the fact that he was even slightly irked. He sighed and crossed his hands in his lap.

It still worried him to send his children topside, they had only been out a handful of times so far. He knew they had probably snuck out when younger, but actually being allowed out they took this opportunity every chance they were given, especially Raphael. He still wasn't exactly fond of the idea, but he knew that if they were going to survive his sons had to be educated on what lied above. Not just cars and people and fast food chains, but guns, criminals, and other things of the likes.

Mikey seemed to pick up on his father's distress before Donatello, who was still completely enthralled in whatever April was talking about.

"Don't worry, Master Splinter, they'll be home soon," Mikey said reassuringly, his brows arching and a smile overtaking his face as he held up a bag of pork rinds. "Leo said he wanted to make sure there weren't anymore of The Shredders lackey's runnin' around the streets, and Raph said something about meeting Casey somewhere. I kinda wasn't listening to that part, Bonkers was on."

"Ah, Bonkers. I see." Splinter sighed again. "It is completely understandable for you to not be aware of your brother's current locations while they are topside, possibly facing some type of danger, then." Splinter replied dryly, rubbing at his temples.

April got right to work at pulling out the contents of the first bag, this one containing more nutritionally sound goods. Don sighed in relief, not absolutely sure he could live on Bagel Bites, Pizza Rolls, and Dunkaroos. Mike wouldn't have a problem― then again Mike had an iron stomach. As he watched April motion for them to start putting the perishable foods away and to start stacking the cans of Ravioli and canned soup, he began thinking about Mike's first cavity, and if the pain was strong enough, if he might possibly give up his life of junk. It didn't seem likely.

"Ah, sweet! Donny! Donny look, she got Oreo Brownies, dude!"

As Don pulled out a chair at the kitchen table he uninterestedly muttered "fascinating," beginning to leaf through the pile of paper. He then stepped over to his father and produced the sheets containing his ideas, wanting his Splinter's input first. He wasn't one hundred percent sure Splinter would agree or even approve of Don integrating any type of 'newfangled' security system in the new lair whenever they found it, but already being kidnapped once himself, something in him assured him Splinter would at least consider it.

When he looked over he found April talking into the phone in a very hushed tone. He could barley make out what she was saying over the crinkling sound of the grocery bags, Mike still spelunking and exploring their bottomless depths.

"Casey? It's April. Yes, _April O'Neil_, how many other April's do you know? Really? Oh. Well, anyway, are Raph and Leo over? No? But Mikey said― Oh he did? When? But... Well, okay I guess. Thanks. Well, that's odd," April commented out loud, tapping the phone against her lower lip.

"What is?" Mikey asked, one leg hanging off the kitchen counter. Noting how irritated this made April look he hopped down, putting a few more cans away.

She set the phone down and began kneading at one of her shoulders, her eyes falling on Splinter who was still next to Don on the couch. He appeared to be aware of her eyes upon him, his own meeting hers. "Casey said Raph stopped by, but he left a while ago."

"Was Leo with him?" Don asked.

April shook her head. "He said Raph was alone."

Mike cringed, his eyes expressively popping open. "Uh oh. You know what that means."

They _all_ knew what that meant.

"Did Casey say if he seemed irritated at all?" Unraveling the measuring tape from around his neck he leaned forward expectantly.

She bit her lip. "He didn't say."

"Great." Don slouched back into the couch with a defeated sigh. The last time Leo and Raph got into an argument and they went off alone, Raph got his shell waxed. Did they not remember that little drama fest? Raph had been in a coma for several days, and Leo had kept a constant vigil on him, hardly moving or even eating. Donny shut his eyes and rubbed at them lightly, waiting for Splinter to voice their options.

"Should we go look for them?" Mikey asked, seeming to recall Don saying, 'Nah, he likes it,' that time April asked if someone should go look for Raph. He also recalled Raph's lifeless body being thrown through a skylight roof about ten seconds later.

This was exactly why Splinter didn't want them going out. Raphael and Leonardo had always been close, but they liked to bicker and test each other. Unfortunately, any playful bickering could quickly erupt into a full blown shouting match, during which, one of them would generally vacate the area for a number of hours and slink in later trying his best to be undetected.

"We will give them another hour. If they do not turn up, one of you will go out and look for them."

"Yes, Master Splinter." They replied in unison, both suddenly taking on a very somber tone.


	4. Some LeoRaph stuff

**Leo and Raph drabble.  
**

**The world needs more of those, right?**

Lying back with his hands behind his head, Leo gazed up at the sky, silently willing the stars to poke through the thick city smog, if only for a moment. He liked to adopt a different rooftop every time he went topside, usually staring at the moon, and if he stayed out long enough, the horizon, wondering what lie behind city limits. He couldn't imagine every place on the planet being like New York, and he wondered if he were to set out, how far the sewer systems would actually take him…

A familiar sound caught his attention. He tensed, his eyes shifting to the right, and then relaxed as he caught the huge defined outline of his brother Raphael. A few second later Raph was lowering down next to Leo, who by this point had shifted into a sitting position himself, lazily allowing a leg to dangle over the the edge of the roof.

"Any updates?" He asked eagerly. Even though he loved prowling the city looking for potential free-range training practice, he almost hoped that the majority of the kids The Shredder recruited had disbanded and given up, possibly going back to school or giving an interest in something productive. It didn't seem likely, but it was nice to think that there were a handful of kids like Danny out there who might turn their lives around.

Danny had been charged with breaking and entering and had spent a reasonable amount of time in a juvenile correctional facility. Charles, meanwhile patching things up with April and making sure there were no hard feelings about her being unemployed, had begun going to therapy sessions with his son. They hadn't had very many updates on their progress, though, having their own issues to deal with.

"Casey said he's been patrolling the streets like he usually does, but aside from yer average garden variety purse snatchers, he says it don't look like any of those kids are groupin' up again." Raph offered a light shrug of his shoulders, turning his attention to the city below. From here he could point out a sea of cell phones illuminating the streets, as well the millions of neon colored electric signs, some flickering due to frayed wires, desperately trying to alert people of their presence before they would surely die out.

"That's…. good, I guess, then." Leo said finally, pulling a knee up to his chest and resting his elbow on it.

"You guess?" Raph scoffed, turning a skeptical eye on his brother.

"Well, I mean, I'm glad they aren't showing any signs of reformation." Seeing the look Raph was giving him, he continued on, trying to steer in a different direction. "Those guys could fight pretty good for buncha punks, huh Raph?"

"They din' fight that good," Raph reminded him, 'that look' being swiped off his face. Ever since they had actually had a chance to 'fight' against someone other than themselves, it was almost as if Leo thirsted for it. He seemed edgy sometimes, like he had to be the eyes and ears for the whole city. This coming from Splinter Jr, the guy who claimed the above life was to be avoided at all costs, that they shouldn't interfere. Raph smirked. "It was always a million to four. Wasn't even a fair fight. Anyway, whada 'bout you, ya see anything?"

He shook his head. "No, I managed to find the hideout where they housed all the kids. The cops closed it down, there's still police tape up. Right after most of the members were arrested the police confiscated a lot of the items and tried to return them to the people and the companies, but I think some of them still might use the place as a squat now or something." The few teenagers he had witnessed walk in and out were not wearing red bandanas at all, which ultimately suggested the fall of The Foot.

It kind of depressed him to think what had lead those kids- and even adults, to want to join The Foot. He assumed even now, after The Shredders demise, that some would remain loyal.

"Mm." Was Raph's only reply. His attention appeared to be focused on a decent sized crowd of girls walking by, dressed up in their nice jackets and boots and skirts, all smiling and gabbing wildly at one another.

"Donny said Casey found a few subway junctions that might serve as a decent lair," Leo offered, hoping to snap Raph out of his bad wasn't a raging inferno yet, but something was definitely going on inside his mind, Leo could tell by the way he was sitting now. He looked closed off, a lot more guarded than when he had first joined him.

They had all gone exploring on their own without any type of map and had found quite a few underground subway sections and other establishments, but none were really livable. Most had been decrepit and crumbling under the weight of the city. It still made Leo furious that their home had been completely ransacked. They could have fixed it up if they really wanted to, but what was the use? Danny knew where it was, he had told The Shredder, and they didn't dare risk returning when possible members of the foot knew the location, too. That was also another reason April was not allowed to return to her home, or even an apartment on the same block.

Once back she had to quickly hire a company with a giant dumpster to do away with all her burnt items, salvaging only the most personal items of her she could find that weren't totally destroyed. After that it was a giant legal struggle, but in the end she was rewarded with a teeny little apartment and a handful of insignificant jobs to get by.

"Cool." He said, smirking a bit. Reaching back he tightened his bandana and rose to his feet. "We should probably be getting back home."

* * *

Leo peeked in through the window, locating Donatello who was at the kitchen counter, working diligently. As he latched his fingers around the window ledge he felt Raph nudge him, and he nudged back, lifting the window and diving in as quickly as possible. Raph joined him a second later, both removing their masks and beginning to wring them out.

Hearing all the commotion outside Don looked up from some paperwork, only to just catch top of Raph's head as he contorted his burly frame in an effort to squeeze through the window. Out of all of them Raph had the broadest shoulders, and while he held them in the highest regards, they made getting in and out of tight places difficult. "I was just about to go out and look for you guys! Good thing you turned up, it looks pretty gnarly out there."

"You're telling me!" Leo grinned.

"Are you guys all right? No broken bones, no stab wounds?"

Raph blinked. "Uh, Don, whadaya talkin' about?"

"Oh… Casey said when you stopped by you were alone, we just assumed you two… well, it's not important. What's important is you're home."

At that very instant April rounded the corner coming out of her bedroom, stopping dead in her tracks. Her face lit up as she cried out, "Leo, Raph!", overjoyed that they were both all right.

No one seemed to be bleeding, no eyes were gouged out, and no weapons plunged into the back of shells or into muscle. They didn't seem to be showing any aggression at each other, either. As her eyes drifted down to the bandanas forming decent sized puddles on her floor, a ghost of a smile left in the corner of her lips.

Leo noticed the look first, and grabbed Raph's shoulder, using him as a barricade. His shoulders instantly shrugged up in a senseless form of protection, his hands shielding his face. When April made that face, combine with that particular squeal, heads would roll.

Frustration clouded her face as she pointed. "You two! Bathroom! _Now!_"

They grudgingly complied, skittering into the bathroom before April could find something to strike them with. When handed a towel, Raph gave it an icy stare. They were turtles, for trying out loud. The water would drip off of them and be dried in an instant; they didn't have any hair or clothing to retain it. "Seriously?" He groaned.

Leo flashed a million dollar smile and shrugged, content now that Raph had taken the towel with a light roll of his eyes.

"What the hecks goin' on in there?! -Whoa, what happened to you guys?" Reacting to April's squeal Mike popped his head sideways out of her room. A wide smile overtook his face as he peeled the door back, but then it vanished, being replaced with absolute seriousness. "Dude, did you guys have a Super Soaker fight and not invite me? 'Cause if you guys had a Super Soaker fight and didn't invite me, then I'm gunna hafta- ow!"

A worn cane came into view, lowering to the ground.

"Michelangelo, calm yourself." A second figure appeared in the doorway a moment later. Splinter nodded towards the bathroom, where Raph had slothfully taken over the toilet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, a towel draped over his head. He didn't appear to be too enthused about drying himself. Leo, on the other hand, was admiring himself in the mirror. He smiled and returned his fathers nod, making his way out of the restroom, but not before April gave him a thorough look over.

She crossed the living room and made her way to the couch. Pushing a bag of chips to the side she sat, twisted around, reached under herself and found a Furby wedged in between the coushins, and sent a glowering gaze at Mikey. With a roll of her eyes she set it on the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We were just about ready to send someone to look for you guys!"

Now that all of his children were home he felt himself able to once again take up the authoritive role. He asked, "Did you find anything?"

"No." He relayed all the information they had collected while out. while Mikey and Raph tore through the kitchen, squabbling over what looked like a pop tart. Raph didn't even like pop tarts, but he loved to see Mikey whine and flail around like a three year old.


End file.
